


After The Wrong Turn

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair struggle to put their lives on the right path, whichever one that may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Wrong Turn

## After The Wrong Turn

#### by OCONN

  
not mine, you know the drill. these days I'm making money through hard work.  
First appeared in Senses of Wonder 2. Lurkers Rule!  
This may be a tough one for some folks: Jim is still married to Carolyn. Warning for changing POVs.   
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

After The Wrong Turn 

Blair 

I reach across the distance of the bed and trail my fingers across the soft, tanned skin of his shoulder. Warm heat infuses me and I marvel at its mere existence. It's supposed to be warm, I think to myself. It's alive. But I know the true wonder lies in the unlicensed sanction I've been given; permission granted where none should have been allowed. These thoughts make my heart clench and my gut twist. They'd done so before, why should this time be any different? 

To keep the end at bay a few more minutes, just until I can no longer immerse myself in dreams of what could be, I move across the space, until I'm lying fully against the lover I cherish and covet. With the contact, my whole body feels as alive as my fingertips had, as I know the warm skin to be. I bury myself in the strong embrace he offers; knowing it will only last a few more moments. I sigh heavily and try to hide my sorrow. 

"Don't, Blair. Please." The words come quietly, dangerously as they always do when it's over. 

I look up into his beloved face and try to keep the hurt out of my reply, though I know he won't be fooled. 

"I won't. I never do." 

Jim says nothing, only looks at me accusingly then extricates himself from my grasp. 

"I have to go," he says as he swing his legs off the bed and sits up. 

I reach across the distance between us and trace the line of his spine. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I know. So am I," Jim replies without turning. He stands up, collects his clothes, and walks to the bathroom. 

As he exits, I turn away. I won't watch Jim leave. I'll know soon enough, when the doorknob turns and I'm left alone without a parting word. Once upon a time, when this was new and easy, we would have spoken, maybe even shared a trembling, heavy-hearted kiss. That too, is behind us now and all that remains in its wake is sorrow. 

When the front door closes I know it's safe, safe to cry. Jim will hear me, of course; he always does. But as long as the tears don't fall when they can be seen, Jim will embrace the pain they symbolize as his penance. After all, it's his pain, too. 

Do I have a penance? The concept implies payment for wrongdoing and I know this isn't wrong. What we have is a pure and beautiful love, one that was destined to thrive. It too, is a victim. And once again, I cry for that missed opportunity or closed door or wrong turn that led us away from what should have been to what is. 

At other times, when space and distance takes me away from this, I feel the truth like a hurricane. It's furious and ravenous and gathering strength. I know that if something doesn't happen soon, one day the storm will break. It will crash over our world with gale force winds and strip us bare. And in the end, only devastation will remain. 

* * *

Jim 

God, I am so tired. I'm tired of life and love and hiding and lying. You're sitting next to me, leaning on my shoulder and watching something on the TV I've totally lost track of and don't care about. All I can think about is how to tell you. We've been together for three years and you've been wonderful. I'm sure I couldn't find any valid reason, not one, for the tragic turn your life could be, should be taking. 

I hurt for you. I hurt for what I couldn't give you. I hurt that one day you'll hate me when I've only ever loved you. But above all, I hurt for him, for it's him that I truly belong with. 

I take a deep breath, realizing that this moment is the time. It'll only grow worse as time goes on. Then I shift and look down at your face and find myself wishing that you had done something, however small, that I could hate you for. And of course there isn't and I say nothing. I am a coward. 

And tomorrow I'll go to work and I'll see him. I'll spend the day close to him, sharing, working, being with him and I'll see his beautiful spirit die a little more. I don't deserve him, but he is the other half of my being and the spirits have made us for one another...Sentinel and Guide...living, dying...waking, sleeping...Blair and Jim. 

I'm sorry. I need him. 

* * *

Blair 

I watch Jim throughout the day. He makes me realize how my life has become so hard. The challenges of growing up, school, and teaching have been hard. Working on my dissertation and riding along with Jim, dividing my time between his commitments and mine have been hard. And now, just staying alive, getting shot at on a daily basis is hard. But none of these can measure against seeing Jim all the time, touching yet not, loving and feeling nothing but pain. This is hard: stone-cold hard. I feel I'm eroding by the minute, like the glaciers on the peaks of the Swiss Alps: 11 feet per year. At this rate, I should have disappeared three months ago last Tuesday. 

And what's even harder? Seeing Carolyn around the station everyday. She's a tough person, hard on Jim at times, but she loves him. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. She doesn't deserve this. No one does. 

I let my mind go unguarded for just a second and the anger floods over me. I rage again, rage at the turn our lives have taken. I rage because no matter what happens I can never leave him, not even for her. Not yet, and not intentionally. But soon, I will simply erode away and cease to exit. The tragic part of this is that I know Jim will follow right behind me. My leaving won't fix things for them, he won't turn to her for comfort. He'll push her and everyone around him away until he becomes a shell of the brilliant man he is now. And that breaks my heart because this world will be greatly deprived by the loss of James Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City. 

I shake myself out of my thoughts and focus on the discussion at hand. 

"Jim, if Thorton is hiding from Carter, then he's safe. He should be OK until we can get to him." 

"Simon, it doesn't matter where Thorton hides. Cater knows about Carrie. He'll use that and he'll kill her, then he'll kill Thorton," I say, adding my unsolicited opinion. 

I can't even begin to describe the feeling that bombards me when he glares at me like I'm a child molester. And my Love, bless him, steps between us and hides me behind his body. Although I can't see his face, I know by the tense set of his shoulders that he is barely controlling his anger. I must intervene before he regrets his actions. 

"Never mind, Jim. I'll just go see about the forensic reports on the Glasser case. Sorry, Simon," I offer before quietly leaving the office. 

Shave off another two inches. 

* * *

Jim 

"Simon, that was uncalled-for. You know he's right. Hell, he usually is." 

"Jim, he's not a cop. He doesn't know anything..." 

"He knows enough. And whether you like it or not, I trust him," I interrupt, trying to control my anger. Simon is my friend, why can't he understand this? 

"I don't like him, Jim. Ever since he showed up you've gone so far out of character. Damn it, man, you're cheating on your wife," Simon hisses at me. "Carolyn doesn't deserve this. I know." 

"Simon, this has nothing to do with you and Joan. I'm sorry for what she did to you, but this is different." 

"Don't you dare start with that Sentinel crap. I know what you can do; I've seen it and I think it's an asset, you know that. But this kid has you so screwed up, you can't even think about anything with out bringing him into it!" 

God, how I hate it when Simon treats this like a cheap affair. I've tried to explain what we feel, so many damn times, but he won't accept my explanation. I can't blame him, I hate what's happening but I can't let Blair go. It's a Sentinel imperative going back thousands of years, probably. Wait, now I remember a few paragraphs in some dusty, ancient book he found last month on a trip to the University of Toronto. It sounds far fetched but I'm desperate for Simon to understand this. 

"Can I tell you something, Sir? Will you at least hear me out?" Simon crosses his arms across his chest and glowers menacingly at me. After a cold, hard look, he nods. 

"Last month Sandburg found a reference about Sentinels. Seems there was this tribe somewhere in Iceland or Eastern Canada, I can't remember which, but it doesn't matter. Anyway, the chieftain's daughter may have been a Sentinel. She was married to the warlord's son and the records show that they had several children. The guy who wrote this says that she spent a great deal of time with another man. They would wander off for hours, sometimes for days, just walking or hunting, whatever. The guy asked about it because it seemed odd to him that this bothered no one, least of all the husband. He was told that 'it is what must be.' Blair figures that he must have been her guide. We started digging and every reference to Sentinels/Guides says the same thing. The two must be together, even if they're married to someone else." 

I need him to get this, to get that we have no choice but to be together. 

"We need to be together. It makes us stronger and makes the tribe stronger. Don't you see, Captain? It's what must be!" 

After a few minutes of ragged silence, he speaks very sarcastically. "So, you're saying some weird genetic imperative is making you cheat on your wife?" 

"God damn it, Simon! Why can't you understand? I need him! He goes and I'm already half way behind. I know we'd die without each other, eventually. And I know that sounds ludicrous and like we have no choice. In some ways, that's absolutely true, but what makes it so amazing is that we're OK with that. Genetic imperative and desperate, blinding love is indisputable." 

Simon stares at me. He looks like he's trying to get past his own personal hurt and see what I'm saying. Then the phone rings. 

"Banks!...Yeah...OK, hold on for a minute." He puts the caller on hold and looks up at me. "Get out of my office. I need to think about this some more." 

And with that he turns away, back to the phone and I'm effectively dismissed. I'm so angry that I slam my fist on his desk then storm out of his office. Unfortunately, I almost run over Carolyn. 

* * *

Carolyn 

"Is everything OK with Simon?" 

I look into Jimmy's face. I know something is bothering him, but like so often between us, he looks down at me and for a brief instance, he's so readable, so open. Then the moment's over and I see the walls slam into place. He gives me a small smile and squeezes my shoulders. 

"Just a misunderstanding. It's nothing, Caro. I have to go. I'll see you later?" he asks. 

But I know he's not interested in my answer. His eyes keep straying toward the exit, toward the elevator that has just whisked away his partner. He leans in and gives me a quick kiss and runs after Blair. And as much as I hate to admit it, I know way, deep down that young man is the root of the problem. I've seen them together and I know I'm losing him. 

And it hurts. 

Turning away from Simon's office, I go instead to the break room. Absently, I reach for one of Jim's coffee cups. It's filled and halfway to my mouth when the thought strikes me. Like lightening. How many times has he used this cup? There's no way of telling if he has of course, not without dusting for prints or running forensic tests, but I know in my heart and down to my soul that Blair Sandburg now owns this cup. And my husband. 

I sag into a chair, barely missing the edge of the table, and quietly begin to cry. The tears soon border on hysterics and I am grateful only for one thing: that Jim Elision is no longer in the building. For now I must come to a decision. 

On the edge of my vision, I see a tall, dark figure hovering in the hall. Simon is debating and when he turns away, I realize two things: his knowledge and his choice. Suddenly I am very cold and very alone. 

* * *

Simon 

It's Tuesday now. Such an innocuous day of the week, not the beginning but neither is it neither the middle nor the end. It's trapped between more important days and often overlooked. But this Tuesday is different, I realize as I hang up the phone. It comes after a long, hard weekend for me, one filled with hours spent soul searching, drinking, memories, drinking, crying, cursing, and very little sleep. My hangover, swollen eyes, and recently broken heart prevented me from dragging my sorry ass into work yesterday. I have no such excuse for today. 

My morning has been spent watching over me domain, my "children" as I've secretly come to think of this fine group of people. They're hard working, smart, and good at what they do. They care about each other and consider themselves a tight knit family. So imagine my surprise when, after three grueling days of alternately crying for Carolyn's upcoming (and my recent) pain and contemplating ways to rid my family of the one who doesn't belong without losing the one who does, I look out over the bullpen and notice something shocking. Blair Sandburg is no longer an outsider. 

I watch him move into the room, stopping at every desk and communicating in some way with the detective there. Sometimes it's a comment, sometimes a laugh or a joke, and sometimes only a pat on the shoulder or a wiggle of the eyebrows. What ever passes between the kid and his focus before he moves on leaves the others smiling and, curiously, watching. Eyes covertly look around as if searching for danger and, sensing none, return to work. And though it is probably only my imagination, a collective sigh seems to pass through the room when Sandburg finally settles with Ellision. All seems right with the world and the collective sigh, and my recent phone call from an old friend, makes up my mind. I reach for the phone and dial a number. 

<<Technical support.>>

"Carolyn Plummer, please." 

* * *

Blair 

I lay in his arms, leaning against his strong chest as his arms bind me tightly to him. The breeze blowing through the truck's open windows sends his sent wafting around my nose. It brings with it the salty sent of tears. 

"It hurts, Blair," he whispers. 

"I know, love," I reply as I stroke his denim covered thigh. Once again I ask how something this perfect can be marred by something so painful. I know its clich, but how can something so right, be so wrong? 

I feel a strangled, choked sob in his chest and I turn in his arms, holding him, being strong for him so he can be strong for me. And suddenly what I fooled myself into believing I had the strength to say, to do, flies out the window, across the green grass of the park and on into oblivion. I can't do it; not right now. I place a soft, loving kiss on each corner of his mouth and sit up. 

"We should get back." 

His eyes shutter away the pain and he turns to start the engine. And although it sounds stupid, even to me, I whisper "Don't worry, Jim." 

He smiles bravely and pulls out of the park. 

* * *

Jim 

As I drive home, I think back over the day, over lunch in the park with my lover. And God, what that word does to me. His presence ate at me all morning until all I wanted to do was bury myself deep inside him and stay there. But I've been contemplating giving him up, a thought that tears at my soul and sends my mind to the very edge of insanity. As unthinkable as that is, I've decided I have to try to ease his pain. He's dying inside. I know it as sure as I know I'll die without him, but my conversation with Simon last week made me realize I was being selfish. How I feel pales in comparison to how I hurt both he and Carolyn. And it is a crime. When the moment came, when I sat in the truck with the breeze blowing and the sun sparkling in his hair, all I could get out was how much I hurt. Coward that I am, I could only lay there and let him pour out a little more of his soul so I could keep breathing. 

And later, when our shift ended, we parted, fingers clasping until the last possible second, as we entered our respective cars. As I put the truck in reverse, I saw it in his eyes... he was giving me up, too. I raced to get out of the car but he shook his head and roared out of the parking garage. It took me ten minutes to gather enough courage to drive home. 

Now, as I glance up at the loft windows, knowing she's up there, knowing I'm drowning but knowing what I have to do, I sigh heavily and get out of the truck. It's time to face the music. 

* * *

Carolyn 

Oh God. What am I going to do now that I know the truth? Part of me wants to fight, to hang on to my life, my marriage, my Jim. But the other part, the part that stood in the PD security office and watched their parting captured on film, remembers his face, his beautiful, strong face crying out in silent pain as their fingers broke contact, crying out in panic as something passed between them before Blair raced away, that part bravely wants to own up to what I already know: we were never good together. I'll never see that naked pain and longing for me in his eyes. We've loved, made a life with each other, but it will never be the all-encompassing entity I see between them. 

Am I willing to live with that? Should I be? Society says "no", my family will say "No! Fight!" But I realize that no, he's not mine anymore and maybe hasn't been for a long while. Now I admit to myself that he never lowered his walls for me, never let me see what's deeply hidden inside, never let me help. It's not my pain to share. It's Blair Sandburg's. And maybe I'm too tired to fight. 

And that's where I find myself just minutes before Jim's is due home: at an intersection in the road of my life. Do I go straight, fighting for every inch of ground? Or do I turn right, make a clean break, and accept an offer made? Whatever my decision, I know there will be no turning back. 

I look up as the door opens and my husband comes in. And I can see it on his face, in the hunch of his shoulders, he's going to say it. He's going to say good-bye. He opens his mouth to speak and, God, he hasn't even taken off his coat! And instantly something in me snaps and I'm very angry. I won't let him do this to me. 

"Don't say it, Jimmy," I snap. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say," I bite out as I turn and march up the stairs. "I'm leaving at the end of the week." 

"Leaving?" he chokes out in a painful voice. "Caro?" 

"On Saturday, Jim. In the meantime," I spit out at him as I toss a pillow and blanket over the railing. "You can sleep downstairs." 

One last look at him shows me his devastation and I know I've only just added myself to his long list of failures, to his insecurities and worries. And I know he'll blame himself. But it's only fair... now he knows how I feel. 

* * *

Jim 

Oh God, she's leaving. Leaving me. I've somehow managed to do it again and I don't know why this keeps happening. How do I succeed in running off everyone who cares about me? As much as I'd like to blame her I know I'm the one to blame. I'm unlovable and I set out to destroy anything that reaches out to touch me. 

She's my wife. For the last two years we've been together, living, working, sleeping. What am I going to do now? I'll be alone again and I don't think I can take the silence of being alone. I have to think of something. 

I rack my brain for what seems like hours but nothing comes to mind except begging her to stay, swearing that I'll change, try my hardest to fix whatever it is that I've done. But she's so angry and I can't bring myself to face the barrage of hurtful things she'll hurl at me. I know I deserve them, know that I've earned every blow she can throw my way, but I'm a coward. 

I decide to call Blair. He'll know what to do; he always has the answers. I'm halfway through dialing his number when it hits me, slams into me like a freight train. Blair. This is all about him. She knows and how could I be so wrapped up in my misery that I don't realize what I've done? Quietly I put down the phone and turn to the stairs. I stop at the bottom and look up, trying to find the words to help her, to help her understand that it isn't her fault. But as I place my foot on the first step, her words freeze me, in place and down to my soul. 

"I hate you, Jim." 

* * *

Blair 

I stride into the bullpen with an air of confidence that I don't feel. I call on those years of practice I've accumulated blending in where I don't belong, to achieve only one goal: making it to Jim's desk, where I'm safe. He's not here yet and inside that frightens me. It leaves me open to attack from those who don't like me. As my backpack lands in Jim's chair, after a well-aimed toss, I glance up at Simon's door and decide to make a beeline for the break room. I have a feeling that I'm going to need a lot more coffee than I've managed to pour into my sleep deprived body before I face that man. If I were to be honest with myself, I'd admit that he's just about the only person who's really scared me in a very long time. Blair 

I debate the merits of hiding out in the breakroom until Jim arrives, but decide that I am an adult and can handle this. So I take a deep breath and make my way out to Jim's desk. Grabbing the top folder off Jim's inbox, I get to work. 

Sometime later, I look up and am surprised to find the bullpen full and an hour gone. And still no sign of Jim. I am beginning to worry so I reach for the phone. Only two numbers get dialed when Simon calls for me. 

"Sandburg, can I see you in my office, please?" 

His voice is controlled and that scares me, but I rely on the other detectives in the bullpen to ensure that I walk out of the Captain's office in one piece. 

"Sit down, Sandburg," he orders as he closes the door behind me. I do and then I take another deep breath and try to prepare myself for what is coming. 

"Jim called. He's not coming in today." 

"What?" 

"In fact, he's taken the rest of the week off," he informs me with a somewhat smug expression on his face. "Since he won't be in, I don't think we'll be needing you here. I'm sure he'll let you know when he's feeling better so you can join him. That's all." 

He waves me away like an annoying insect but I barely notice I'm being dismissed. I rush out to gather my things and I'm already dialing Jim's cell phone as I dash for the elevator. 

The phone rings for what seems like hours before the voice mail kicks in and I hear his voice. 

"Hi, Jim, it's Blair. Simon said you called in sick. Are you all right?" My mind is whirling with all the possibilities as I drive toward the loft. Why wouldn't Jim call me if he's sick? Maybe he zoned out this morning and no one was there to help. Carolyn doesn't know about Jim's senses; she wouldn't be able to help. Would she even recognize that something is wrong? Would she care? OK, so that wasn't fair to her. She does love him, in her own way. But I refuse to acknowlegd any other possibilities. I try calling again, this time dialing the loft. The answering machine answers my call instead of Jim and I try to control my escalating fear. 

"Jim? Are you there? Please pick up the phone. I really worried about you. I'm on my way to the loft. I'll be there in about ten minutes. God, I hope you're OK." I slam the cell shut again as a frustrated scream leaves my throat. What is going on? 

The Corvair is barely in park before I'm jumping out and running toward the loft. I pound on the door to Jim's home, almost in a panic because I've suddenly developed a creepy-crawly chill up and down my spine. Something is definitely wrong here. My frantic knocking continues to go unanswered so I dig out the key Jim gave me for emergencies. If this doesn't qualify, I don't know what does. 

The loft door swings silently open and I take two steps into my lover's apartment. But my feet freeze me in place as I realize that no one is here. I don't even have to check upstairs to know what the deathly quiet tells me: he's gone. 

Remember that hurricane? I think its arrived. I feel like the driving winds are piercing me and their strength rips my legs out from me. I crumple to the floor and sometime goes by before I realize that the roaring in my ears isn't wind, its my strangled cries. Was I expecting this? Of course, but honestly I didn't want to believe he'd really leave me. I always believed that our love would surpass all, that together we could manage to help each other through anything and grow old together. Finally forcing my eyes to open and focus, I look around the loft, at Jim's other life, the one that doesn't include me. It's then that I notice how empty it is. Well, not really empty, more like something is missing. But since I've never been here, I wouldn't know what exactly that would be. I'm sorry that doesn't make sense, I can't explain it. 

As my eyes travel around the room, I let a bit of my deep envy of Carolyn wash over me. How I wish it were me sharing this space, this life with Jim. My vision continues it's search for the physical evidence that my lover has gone. Then my eyes fall on the items on the kitchen table: his service revolver and badge. I get very worried now because I know Jim would never leave his badge and gun behind. 

Rushing out of the loft, I slam the door and make my way back to my car. My thoughts are swirling around in my head but I force myself to take a few minutes to calm down and focus on where to begin to look for him. 

For the next twelve hours I search every hospital, dive bar, gym, shooting range and hiking trail I can ever remember Jim mentioning. In the end, I give up and force myself to go home. With plans of a hot shower and a sandwich before starting out again, even if only to cruise the streets, I unlock my apartment and make my way inside. 

Discarded clothes mark my journey to the bathroom. As I pass through my bedroom, I drop the last of my layered shirts on the bed and turn toward the siren's call of the blessedly hot water that awaits a twist of the taps, my brain registers the glint of shiny metal that shouldn't be here. I think my heart knows what the object is and its significance immediately and it nose dives into the deepest pit of my soul. I've just found what was missing from Jim's home. 

It seems to take forever for my feet to remember how to move, but they do and they take me back to the bed. I eye the shirt like its a snake waiting to strike and I don't really want to look, but I do. I peel back the fabric to reveal a set of battered handcuffs. The ones that meant so much to Jim as a reminder of when we first knew, really knew that we were inevitable. Jim managed to convince the PD that the cuffs were beyond repair after Kincaid was arrested. He said they were proof of what he'd go through for me. He even had the balls to put them on the bookshelf and dare Carolyn to move them. I wonder if she ever knew exactly what they were or why Jim kept them. 

Shaking myself back to reality, back to the horror that has become my life. And I now realize that he's truly gone. That the only one I ever cared enough to die for has left me alone. I curl up around a pillow, clutching the cuffs tightly to my chest and cry. 

I'm not sure how much time has passed, it's gotten dark and I must have slept some. I think the brief respite of sleep has helped me. I'm not weepy anymore. Now I'm just plain pissed. He's never going to make it without me, I know that as well as I know that I won't make it with out him and frankly, I'm not ready to pack it in. He wants to bail on us, to set me free. Well, he's not going to get away with it, damn it. I'll hunt him down to the ends of the earth if it takes the rest of my life. I throw on a shirt and storm out of my apartment. As I run back down the stairs and out to my car, I try not to think that I'd been trying to do the same thing to him only just yesterday. Instead I begin again, making my way back to the first of the few places I know he goes when he's running from himself. 

* * *

Jim 

I sit in the darkest corner of the seedy bar; the low lighting does a good job of hiding those who wanted to hide. I pull my mind back only far enough to allow me to direct my hand to grasp the glass and bring it to my mouth. I swallow a mouthful of vodka and slip back into my mini zone out. 

My will power fights valiantly, but in the end loses the fight against the memories. Pictures of the last few months flash behind my eyes. And although I wish it wasn't true, the only good memories I have are of Blair. I desperately wish I had good times with Carolyn to remember. They were there, but completely over shadowed by my lover. The torment in my soul grows with each slide that flashes by. 

What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can't go back to Carolyn. She hates me, rightfully so, and is leaving town. And going back to Blair only means ruining the young man's life. I can't do that, not after ruining Carolyn's. 

I let the empty the glass clatter to the table and dropped my head back against the wall. After an indeterminate amount of time, I drag myself back to the present and out of the booth. On the table, I drop what I hope is enough to cover the bill and leave the bar. Stumbling across the parking lot, I manage to make it to the door of my cheap motel room and unlocked it. I slam the door behind me and drop onto the bed. I'm so wasted I don't even bother to check the lock. 

* * *

Twelve hours later, the sun shining through the flimsy curtains finally manages to rouse me from sleep. I groan when the light explodes across my bleary eyes. I snap them shut again and bury my face in the grungy pillow. 

Another hour passes before my bladder insists I try to get up today. And when I'm finished my business, I fall back into bed and sleep again. 

* * *

A week passes by me in a blurry haze of alcohol and sleep. Then one morning, I realize I can't go on much longer like this and I begin to formulate a plan; a plan that would allow me to disappear. 

Picking up the phone, I dial a long ago memorized number. When a deep voice answers, I put in a request. 

* * *

Blair 

It's been over a week since I've seen my lover. I haven't heard a word from anyone about Jim and I'm back to feeling sad and angry. I hate that he isn't here. I need to touch him, feel him, before... I can't believe I'm thinking this, but I'm afraid I'm going to forget what Jim feels like. What I feel like when he's near, how his voice sounds. How long before my head begins to tell my heart that Jim isn't all I remember? Will I only remember that my lover had blue eyes and not how alive they were or how they lit up when he looked at me? Will I forget the way his heart sounded against my ear in the late afternoon quiet, when he's still sleeping? And how much longer will I last without him? I brush aside a tear. Its not the first today, only one in a long line that has fallen since Jim left me. 

The phone rings and I grab it before the first ring has finished. 

"Jim?!" 

My heart is crushed when it isn't Jim on the line. Instead, I hear Joel's voice and I'm surprised to hear from the kind man. He seems sincerely sad that I haven't been around lately. He asks about Jim, if I know anything yet and apologizes again for not being able to help. Then he relays a message. Carolyn's gone. She accepted a job in San Francisco and left this morning. 

That's when it hits me. Jim's gone and Carolyn's gone. I mumble and stutter out my thanks and hang up before he has a chance to say anything more. My legs refuse to hold me up any longer and I drop to the floor. As I hit the cold concrete, the phone drops from my frozen fingers and clatters it's way under the table. 

Hours later, when I'm stiff from laying on the floor, I drag myself back to the present and attempt to stand. I wince as my muscles protest thier uncurling and it takes a few tries to succeed, but I'm finally standing. I know I'm only wasting time. The more time passes, the harder it'll be to track Jim. So, first make coffee. Good hot, strong coffee so I can think. The shower is next on my to do list. Get clean, then head for the loft. If Carolyn's gone, I should be able to get in with no problem. Maybe she hasn't cleared out the loft, maybe she's left enough of her husband's things that I can find a clue as to where he is. And when I find him, he damn well better be ready for me. I'm going to kick his ass. Right after he fucks me raw. 

* * *

* * *

End 

After The Wrong Turn by OCONN: j804gdt@verizon.net  
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